Darcy and Deception

“But she’s a sensible, clever woman?”

“Yes.”

“Perhaps there is another reason for her behavior.”

Darcy frowned, unsure what Peg meant. “Such as…”

The barmaid shrugged expressively. “I don’t know, do I? But my niece Becky once was in a fix. Her papa told her to be nice to a fellow she didn’t much like. He was courting her, and she had to smile and dance with him and pretend as though she enjoyed it.”

Darcy leaned forward, intrigued despite himself. “Why?”

The woman’s hands fluttered. “Oh, her papa owed the fellow some money, and Becky is a pretty thing. The man said he’d forgive the papa’s debts if she married him. Becky continued for months being friendly to this man when she couldn’t stand the sight of him—until finally she ran off with a fisherman.”

Darcy slumped back in his chair, staring at Peg, aware that his mouth was hanging open. He had never considered the possibility that Wickham exerted some sort of hold over Elizabeth.

Did Mr. Bennet owe money to Wickham? Unlikely. But there were many other reasons Elizabeth might be compelled to show friendliness to the officer. Half a dozen ideas occurred to Darcy immediately. Perhaps—fearing an elopement—she sought to distract Wickham’s attention from Lydia. Perhaps Wickham knew something damning about a member

of the Bennet family and was blackmailing her. Perhaps he held some other monetary inducement over her head. As Darcy well knew, Wickham was capable of any number of unsavory schemes.

Elizabeth could be desperately in need of Darcy’s assistance, not his condemnation.

Peg waggled her finger in his face, chuckling at his no-doubt stunned expression. “See, you hadn’t thought of that, had you?”

“No,” Darcy admitted. He could easily resolve most difficulties with money. Elizabeth could indeed be suffering without such resources.

Peg gave a decisive nod of her head. “That’s why you need to speak to the young woman—alone.”

Darcy could only nod mutely. Why had this not occurred to him before?

The woman stood with a grin. “Now, what can I get you to drink?” Suddenly getting foxed had no appeal.

“I must depart.” Darcy reached into his pocket and pulled out a coin. It was far more than he would pay for a whisky, but no matter. “I thank you for your excellent counsel.” After dropping the coin into her palm, he hurried from the pub. There was no time to waste.

Chapter Seven

Elizabeth Bennet had enjoyed many carriage rides in her life. This was not one of them. Mr. Wickham drove too fast and too recklessly, no doubt under the mistaken impression that swaggering would impress her. Instead, she clutched the edge of her seat with one hand and her bonnet with the other while forcing a grin as though she were having the time of her life. Occasionally she stifled a desire to scream for him to stop the curricle so she could climb down and walk back to the colonel’s house.

This was not the sort of danger she anticipated when agreeing to become a spy. One boon of the ride was that fear for her life occupied her thoughts so completely that she stopped thinking about her regrets over rejecting Mr. Darcy. She feared she had hurt him badly.

Elizabeth earned a temporary reprieve from the anxiety-inducing drive when they reached the cliffside road. Declaring that she wished to walk along the clifftops for a better view, she insisted that Mr. Wickham stop the carriage. Indeed, it was a lovely sight; the stark whitish gray cliffs contrasted against the luminous blue of the sky. Golden sunlight sparkled through many layers of ocean water. Seabirds whirled and dove through the air. Grasses on the top of the cliffs rippled in the wind.

At the colonel’s house, Mr. Wickham suggested that Mr. Denny had told him about the cliffside walk, but it quickly became clear that he was quite familiar with the area. After a few minutes on solid ground, Elizabeth’s heart had stopped thundering in her chest, and she proceeded to calculate how she could pry some information out of Mr. Wickham. The colonel was particularly interested in discovering where Wickham met with his French compatriots; most likely it was in one of the caves that lined the cliffs.

She peered down at the craggy, white chalk cliffs. “Is it true that there are caves along these cliffs?”

Wickham had one booted foot propped against a boulder, no doubt believing he made a very dashing picture. “Caves? Aye, hundreds I have heard.”

“Really?” Elizabeth opened her mouth in a perfect “o.” “Do you suppose any of them are used by smugglers?”

Wickham adjusted his hat to a slightly jaunty angle. “No doubt they are. There are smugglers all over this part of the country.”

Imagining how Lydia would react, Elizabeth gasped. “Do you think so?”

He smirked at her innocence. “I know so. The navy patrols the Channel, but there are too many smugglers to catch them all.”

She gave a little excited shiver. “And they could be using the caves right here—beneath our feet?”

“I suppose. Although most of the caves are small and shallow. They would not be of much use to smugglers.”